perched as birds on a branch

in the tree, we sleep
surrounded by mist below
and the tiniest qualifying
snowflakes above, hovering
much like our relationship status
on the freezing line

upon the mountain
the night passes, swaying
us in its canopy;
the flame flickers against
the silhouette of your singing nose
I breathe in the nourishing
of the pine; there are no other
sensations I wish to feel right now.

the alarm is assessed as having
no real urgency or agency on which
either of us wishes to act.
our gaze exists, unbroken
there is essential expression,
this crooked sideways dance
in view of the mid-trunk of the tree

I can see my feet pointing its toes
together, far above my brow,
and on the left, your mouth muscles
line the limits of your face;
you are furious in your touching.